7pq (Cob 

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IVY LEAVES 



VESTA ADAMS 




CINCINNATI 

STANDARD PUBLISHING CO. 

1887 



•c^ \ r\u^' 






. p\^'^'^^ 



C'opyiiglit, l8b7, hy 
VESTA ADAMS 



CONTKNTS. 

Ivy Leaves 5 

Will It Pay? 7 

I uiic 9 

Helen Hunt [,uk-> m 11 

July 13 

On the Death <>( a I'd ("nnaiy 15 

l''oiiilli of July . .' 17 

Baby's r.irthvlay 20 

'I'haiiksgi ving 22 

Annivers.iry Soiiij 24 

A Work for Ail 26 

To Nellie 28 

When My Ship Comes In 30 

Memories of Our Little Mary 32 

The Moss Rose 34 

Paraphrase on I. Cor. xiii 36 

.Memorial Day ,38 

,\n Acrostic 40 

On the Death of a Classmate 41 

The Old Sexton's Story 43 

The Raven and the Dove 48 

The Christmas Star 50 



IVV LKAVKS 

The i^iaiulcr llowcrs in the field of thought, 
I 've left for others ; and have brought 
Only these ivy-lea\'es to offer )'ou, 
Tj'pes of remembrance and friendship true. 
As the iv)' clings to the oak tree tall, 
And clambers o'er many a ruined wall, 
Hiding the roughness and want of grace 
'Neath the cov'ring of green its clust'ring \'iii-S 

trace, 
Ling'ring long after the flowers are gone, 
And the summer birds to the South have flown, 
Lending a beaut}' where none was before, 
Performing its mission of love o'er and o'er. 
So would I that friendly thoughts ma)' do ♦ 
In reading to cover the defects from view; 
I'^or the faults are man}' which liere are found. 
Incompleteness and crudeness in rh}'thm 

abound, 
l^ut receiving it all in the spirit 't is sent, 
Rcmemb 'ring onl}' the good that is meant, 
Over imperfections a covering fashion, 
Of the glossy green leaves of love's compassion. 



6 I\V I.KAV1"..S. 

I.ookini^ onl)' at tliat wiiich is best, 

An;l a pending placing o 'cr all the rest. 

'T is but as a leaf cm the sea of time, 

This little volume of jingle and rhyme. * 

'Mid the legions of others gone on before, 

And legions still gaining the distant shore 

Of fame and glory and all that seems 

The perfect fulfillment of fairest dreams. 

But should it a pleasure to even one be, 

Who through darkness of errors a light ma\- 

see, 
That will be glory enough for me. 
And when again fancy shall turn to thee, 
Oh, muse ! ma\' }ou sing in a more jicrfect 

strain. 
With a purer melody, and sweeter refrain. 



WILL IT PAV 



\\ ill it pay to lend a hand. 

In the onward march of life, 
To the weak ones of the band, 

WMio are fallini: in the strife? 



Some are stru^^ling' 'gainst their vices ; 

(Others weighted down with pride. 
Still would shun that which entices 

Those borne down beneath the tide. 



Piide should be our slave, not master. 
Sad his fate whom it shall rule ; 

Oft 't will lead him to tlisaster ; 
' r is a lesson tauirht in school. 



If we do our best right gladl\- 
With a cheerful look and tone, 

Vov each one who needs them sadl\'. 
Half earth's sorrow's will be unknown. 



WILL IT PA\ ? 

It will pay us every day, 

To intercede for what is right, 

Plant flowers of good deeds on our way, 
And strive to walk within the Light. 



JUNK. 

Sunny, flower-wreathed month of June 
Setting all our hearts atune 
To Dame Nature's sweetest chords ; 
Songs of summer, without uords. 
Now the country 's clothed in green. 
And the starry daisies gleam 
Brightly over many a field ; 
And, half-hidden, half revealed, 
Luscious strawberries are seen 
Peeping out from midst the green. 
Yonder from the oak's low branch. 
Saucy robin looks askance, 
While his comrades form a choir, 
Excelling far the harp and lyre. 
With the city dim before us, 
Heaven's blue canopy spread o'er us. 
Seated in some shady nook, 
With a favorite author's book, 
Where tall trees their shadows throw. 
While soft bree7.es come and go. 
Whispering ever, soft and low, — 
Life is but a happy dream ; 



JUNK. 

All its paths with pleasure tccni ; 
All its oriefs are passed a\va\- 
On this peaceful summer da)' ; — 
With fleeting joys gone all too soon, 
Who does not love to live in June? 



HKLKN HUNT jACKSdX. 

Oil A mount in the ^rand Colorado chain. 
Where pine trees murmur tlieir endless refrain, 
Where turmoil and traffic of earth all cease, 
" H. H." is sleeping in restful peace. 
'T is a lonely place where she chose to lie, 
h\'irther it seemed from the eartli than the sky ; 
Hut a scene more sublime ne'er met the gaz.e 
Than this, as we stood in the sombre haze 
On the mountain top, where not a sound 
Of bird song or insect hum was heard. 
And emotions deep in each heart were stirred. 
As we silentl\- looked on the little mound. 
Around us, the mountains grim and tall, 
Tower'd high above on each side like a wall,* 
While below us, bathed in the sun's warm light, 
As a picture of fairy-land to the sight. 
The beautiful town at the Springs was seen. 
Like a mirage where mortal had never been. 
Along the path d'nvn the mountain side, 
Shimm'ring and si)arkliiig, the little streams 

glide ; 
Thro' the ravines and o'er precipice high. 



12 HELEN HUNT JACKSON. 

These beautiful streams go gleaming by. 
Such was the scene that can ne'er be foi'got — 
And a fit place for study and thought was this 

spot. 
And, endeared and familiar to her in each part, 
What wonder the place was so dear to her 

heart ! 
A synonym true of the heights she had gained 
'Mong the literati — and then all that remained 
Was to lay down her work when the summons 

should come, 
And lovingly, trustingly, be guided safe home. 
And a monument fit, in Romona's pages, 
Has she reared for her memory in coming ages : 
For this thrilling story will nev^er grow old. 
Till the sands in life's hour-glass have all been 

told. 



JULY. 

Lazily swing the flower bells; 

Softly the warm winds blow, 
The song in the robin's throat swells, 

But faint are the notes and low ; 
The hot sun beams down upon us, 

But we seek the shady streets. 
And wish for the broad, green woodlands, 

And cool lakes, and summer retreats. 
J''or the long mid-summer days 

Are dragging the moments by, 
And the heat, and languor, and lazy ease. 

Are telling us— 'T is July. 

The honey bees and butterflies 

Hover o'er the flowers where nectar lies. 

Sipping the sweets of each flower ere it dies. 

The streamlet's song as it ripples along. 
Has changed to whisperings low, 

And the pebbles seen "neath the silvery sheen, 
Like crystals and diamonds glow, 

When from valleys low to hill-tops high. 



1 4 Ji'iv. 

rhe beauties of nature around us lie 
In such prot\ision, then 'tis Jul}-. 

The white capped clouds go sailini^ b)', 

Like phantom ships in the deep blue sky ; 

And anon comes the music of falling rain, 

Rf^viving the meadows and fields again. 

And the parched grass, and drooping flowers 

Nod gax'ly amidst the refreshing showers. 

I'^air queen of summer I When } our sunsets 

glow, 
And the tinted lights gleam on the clouds 

below, 
We pause and think of that home on high, 
Where cool waters flow eternally by, 
Where Elim's cool shades invitingly lie, 
And where 's a summer more perfect than e'en 

July. 



0\ 'IHK I)I-:ArH OF A PKT CANARY. 

()ur pet c.inary bird dictl last ni^^lit, 
And it seems like we just can't bear the si[^ht 
()r the eiiipt}- cai^^e hanf;ini^ ^o silcntlv, where 
His sweet sont^s of nielod}' once rang on the 

air ; 
We miss him all hours and all times thrcniijh 

tile day. 
And hardl\- can think that he s gone to sta\-. 

He was ever so gentle and pretty and bright, 
Carolling forth his glad song with each dawning 

of light. 
He sang out his joy .vords could never express, 
And brightened full many an hour of distrcs.^. 
He was alwax's dressed in one suit — gold and 

green — 
And we thought him the prettiest bird ever seen 

Through many great changes with \is he has 
fjone, 

Ami gi'cw nearer aikl dt-arer to us with cnt'h 
one ; 



1 6 ON THF, DEATH OF A VET CANARY, 

Though his life was long for a bird — scvlh 

years — 
Still \vc can 't give him up without sheddinij 

tears. 

Dear little bird ! we shall miss you long, 
And often will listen in vain for your song. 
And though others one day your place may 

take, 
And with just as sweet songs the echoes awake. 
We ever will cherish in memory's sight, 
Thoughts of dear little Billy, that died last 

nitrht. 



I'OURTH OF JULY. 

Once again the circlintj years, 
Passing oh ! how swiftly b}-, 
Freighted with our hopes and fears, 
Sunshine's smiles and sorrow's tears, 
Bring us to that milestone on our way, 
Wrapped with our banners bright and gay. 

Red, white and blue that led the wa)- 
To peaceful time and thee. Independence Day. 
Loud and warm shall your greeting be, 
'Mid the cannon's roar, and right ro)-ally 
Our national flag we'll unfurl to the breeze, 
Proclaiming on land and on many seas 

That mem'ry reveres the brave warriors of old, 
Tho' the warfare is now as " a tale that is told. " 
The bells are gaily ringing, as in olden times 

't was done, 
And the shooting of torpedoes— how the small 

bov loves the fun ! 



1 8 FOURTH OF JULY. 

The sound of martial muL>ic, the merry drum 

and fife, 
Awakes the dull emotions of the vet'ran to 

new life : 



For to him there is no music that sounds one 
half so sweet, 

Because with deeper meaning it did once his 
senses greet. 

As the sun sinks down the West, and the even- 
ing shade comes on. 

And the lights- on shore and river gleam out 
brightly one by one, 

Then the fire-works and the lanterns illuminate 
the night 

With their curious wrought designs, and many 
colored lights. 

The brilliant streams of light ascend, with the 

rainbow's colors true, 
Towards the zenith with its dull and darkened 

, hue. 
Then, silently and gracefully, they sink beneath 

our view, 
As do the shortened hours, filled with patriotic 

zeal. 



FOURTH OF JULY. 1 9 

Pass by in quick succession ; and soon the royal 

seal 
Of Time's unerring fingers counts the moments 

till the last, 
' And the Fourth of eighty-seven is reckoned 

with the past. 



BABY'S BIRTHDAY 

ApKir. lo, iScS/. 

Easter Sunda)', fair and bright, 
Comes once more to bless our sight 
With its tender recollection 
Of our Saviour's resurrection, 
Twining 'round our hearts' affection. 

Early flowers of Spring are blooming, 
Eilies sweet the air perfuming, 
And all nature seems communing ; 
Her sweetest chords to songs attuning, 
To celebrate the holy dawn. 

On this day of sweet remembrance. 

With no trace of care, or semblance, 

With none of life's dross, but all of its ij^old, 

Our dear little Mary is six months old. 

With wonder she looks from her large brown 

eyes 
On this busy world, with calm surprise. 



HAliV S HIKTIin.W . 2 I 

Dear baby, may this da}' be a token 
Of future years; as life's book you open, 
We trust you xm.y ever find written there 
Man\' pleasures and joys to lit^^hten the care. 

Ma\- the sunshine that hallows this brit^ht birth- 

da)', 
l^ver shed its light over the re.st of your way ; 
And may the dear Saviour keep watch over \'ou, 
To guide and direct in all that you do, 
From life's fair morn till its closini:: dav. 



THANKSGIVING. 

The day was fair and the sun shone bright, 
Fining the earth with its radiant hght, 
Transforming the frozen drops of dew 
With sparkHng beauty — a fairyland view. 
The sun rose higher, and soon his warm rays 
Spread over the city's broad streets and by-ways, 
Lighting up many a bare, dismal room, 
And many a home where was no thought of 
gloom. 

'T was the day of the year that had been set apart 
For the thanksgiving that lies in each grateful 

heart, 
For the many great blessings received through 

the year, 
The blessings of life, friends, and kindred dear, 
For us to meet in His house, and together give 

praise, 
To Him who had guided us safe in His ways. 

The earnest preacher was there on time, 
Soon after the bells had ceased to chime. 



TIIANKSCIN ING. 23 

And one by one the pews were filled. 

And the people's hearts to their depths were 

thrilled 
Jiy the eloquent sermon, so earnest and true, 
Recalling- to them what was duty to do : 
To make this glad day a thanksgiving, indeed, 
H\' remembering the man)' in suffering and 

need. 

It seemed that the sermon had touched the right 

chords, 
J^'or the generous giving spoke plainer than 

words ; 
And from many a home of want that day 
Was the cloud of suffering lifted away, 
Hy dire wants supplied in pitying lo\e ; 
And many souls were lifted in praises above. 

A greater respect to mankind was gixen, 
And many astray turned their faces to Heaven. 
When the sun's last rays o'er the city fell 
I'hat da)-, 'twould indeed be hard to tell 
Who were the happier: but all were blest, 
And the Angel recording can judge it best. 



AN ANNIVERSARY SONG. 

Calm and perfect is the day, 

And the fohage, Hke rainbows gay, 

Shows where King Frost did gently steal, 

And with wondrous art bright hues reveal. 

The hours are fleeting, and a misty haze 

Mellows the light of these autumn days. 

The store-houses filled, of plenty tell. 

And a feeling of peace in each heart does 

dwell ; 
Her summer work done, and all at its best. 
Fair nature has paused, and now seemeth at 
rest. 

This bright day seems doubly dearer 

To us all, and ever nearer 

Its sweet influence does come. 

Shedding radiance o'er our home ; 
For an anniversary it brings near, 
Of the time when father and mother dear, 
Thirty long years ago, did tell 
The marriage vows they have kept so well. 
And now the\' stand calm and serene, 



AN AXNIVKKSAKY SONG. 35 

On the heights by the hallowed mile-stone, 
And lovingly look over the scene 

Through whose paths they together have 
gone. 
If, sometimes, the light was shadowed 

By the toils and cares of life. 
Still that time now seems 'most hallowed, 
And with pleasant memories rife. 
Bright as this fair, perfect day 
Would we wish their future way 
Through greeii valleys e'er may be. 
And by waters clear and free, 
Till they reach the distant heights 
Where the Golden Wedding lights 
\\' ill shine upon them from above, 
With the sparkling light of love. 
May God's Spirit gently guide them 

Through the pleasant ways. 
And His blessing e'er betide them 
Through all coming' da)-s. 



A WORK FOR ALL. 

I 've been thinking to-day of the good we 

could do, 
If we heeded the voices of conscience so true, 
And instead of Hves spent for vain pleasure and 

show, 
We should cherish sweet charity, and cause it 

to grow. 

There 's the work of the missions, so noble and 

good — 
Now we a// can 't be missionaries, e'en if we 

tvou/d ; 
But we ever can aid them who go o 'er the sea 
To those living in ignorance and idolatry. 
By rememb'ring the mission day when it 

comes 'round, 
And in giving (V/r share, be it penny or pound. 

Every day on the streets as we pass to and 
fro, 

We can hear some sad story of want and of woe. 

•26 



A WORK FOR ALL. 27 

There are little ones hemmed in by vices and 

sin, 
Whom just a kind word, or a smile might win ; 
And in doing these duties we can always find 

near. 
We are laying up treasures for heaven while 

here. 

Kind words, loving thoughts, a smile or a tear, 
We don't think amount to much, year after 

}'ear. 
But all good has a value, and each act in its 

way 
Helps to bring in the sunlight, where darkness 

holds sway. 

The light-hearted child, the man old and gray, 
From life's fair morn till its closing day. 
Each one has a mission on earth to fulfill ; 
And if we would all do our best with a will, 
At last we may find, viewing paths others have 

trod. 
That each good deed 'sa stepping-stone leading 

to God. 



TO NELLIE. 

To what shall we hken our Httle maid?!, 
We will call the flowers to our aid, 

And find if any blooming there 

Are like to our own little blossom rare. 

The daisies that fields and meadows gem, 
We '11 place in the floral diadem. 

Like faith-stars shining pure and white, 
And hope that her life may be as bright. 

Then the pansies — flowers of thought — 
With face-like blossoms, delicate wrought ; 

These beautiful blooms arc heart's ease as well, 
And in this they are like our darling Nell ; 

And so we will gather them, fair in each hue, 
To weave in our garland, the purple and blue. 

Eair lilies bending low on the stem 

Have a matchless grace ; so we '11 gather them 



TO NKLLIK. 29 

Types of sweetness and j^urity, 

And with them a wish that her Hfe ma}' be 

P>vcr, as now, from all sinfulness free. 

A spray of forget-nic-nots next comes in view, 
And we '11 gather the spray for remembrance 
true. 

Hut now we come to the lovely moss rose, 
Tyi)e of true love, wherever it grows ; 

b'airer than all others does it seem. 
Like to a picture seen in a dream ; 

And as our Nellie with love holds swa\- 
Over all who know her, we will liken to-da\' 

Her life to this blossom, the fairest that grows 
'Mid so many others — the r.'re moss rose. 

And this wreath of thought — flowers we wea\x- 

so gay, 
For our loved one to wear through her life 

each day ; 

And may the good wishes expressed in these 

flowers, 
Slied a radiance over her future hours. 



WHEN MY SHIP COMES IN. 

Oft are we building castles of air 
Of our heart's desire, and, oh ! so fair, 
And passing beautiful each structure seems, 
Each " baseless fabric " of our day-dreams. 
The sea harbor will open wide, 
And in pomp and glory, tall ships beside, 
My own I will hail with forgiven pride. 
And be merry as ripples that follow the tide, 
When my good ship comes in. 

I often think of the good I will do. 

With all the treasures when my dream comes 

true. 
But shall I this good ship see ? 
And through what port will its entrance be ? 
Shall it come over some stormy sea, 
Over rough rolling waves, in darkness to me ? 
Or shall it come sailing light and free, 
Over rippling waters, and shall I see 
Its pennons waving gracefully. 
When my good ship comes in ? 



WHEN MV SHir COMES IN. 31 

Will it come early, or shall it be late, 
This royal ship with its golden freight ? 
But when it does come, be they small or great, 
I tlien will know what treasures wait 
For me in the mythical hands of fate. 
And 'twill bring much joy to me, I trow, 
When open the harbor bars I throw. 
And my ship comes sailing in. 



MEMORIES OE OUR LITTLE MARY. 

A little curl of dark brown hair, 
Tied with a silken ribbon fair ; 
A bit of cashmere, pure and white, 
Tenderly hid from curious sight ; — 

Only these ; but the story they tell 
Causes tears to rise from the heart's deep well ; 
Eor they speak so plain of our baby girl, 
Who so soon was called from earth's busy whiil. 

Ere time could embitter, or grief alloy ; 
She 's reached an eternity of perfect joy; 
Ere one short year in life's race was run, 
Her brown e}'es closed, and her mission was 
done. 

The dimpled cheek and the sunny smile 
Are hid from us now for a little while ; 
But we can not think of our darling as dead. 
For we know that our Saviour while here, once 
said, 



MEMORIES OF OUR I.J TTI.K MARV. ^^ 

"Suffer the children to come unto me" — 
And of heaven's kingdom are such as she. 
There's a iink draws us nearer to licaven's 

gate, 
Though sorrowing hearts do well nigh break ; 
And a blessed hope which shall ever remain, 
One day we may meet little Mary again. 



THE MOSS ROSE. 

[There is a legend given in ancient lore, that the Christ 
child was once wandering through the earth ; the way was 
dreary, and rough, stony paths caused him great suffering; 
sometimes rich foliage and rare flowers were seen, but they 
reared their regal heads as if unconscious ol his suffering. 
Ere long he came to a bed of soft green moss, and so grati- 
fying was it to his weary feet, that he paused and spoke 
a blessing on the lowly moss, and raised it as a mmtle to 
spread around the rose, thus making the l)eautiful moss rose, 
which has ever since reigned queen of the flowers.] 

Beautiful rose, with your mantle of green ! 
The fairest flower that ever was seen, 
Crowned queen of flowers by love divine, 
A royal place in all hearts is thine! 
As a token of love it is often sent, 
And messages sweet with its petals are blent, 
When the pink of the rose is touched with dew, 
That sparkles like gems on its rosy hue. 
When on it the warm sun shines in his might, 
New beauties we see 'neath his dazzling light ; 
And when the evening shadows fall. 
The veil of darkness that steals over all, 
Can not rob it of beauty ; for a lovely sight 

34 



THE MOSS ROSE. 35 

Is ihc pale, pink rose in the soft moonlight, 
Whether found in some princely dra\vin<j-room, 
Offering its incense of sweet perfume. 
Or blooming free in fair garden bovvers. 
The moss rose is ever the queen of flowers. 



PARAPHRASE ON I. COR. XIII. 

Tho' with tongues of men and of angels I 
speak, 
The apostle Paul once said, 
Without the sweet grace of charity, 

My words are but dull, unmeaning and dead. 
As sounding brass that availeth naught. 
Or the cymbal's tinkling, is my life's work 
wrought, 

Tho' the gift of prophecy is given to me, 
And all of futurity I can forsee — 
Uplifting the veil 'tvvixt the future and now; 
Tho' all to my knowledge in rev'rence would 

bow, 
Tho' faith to remove even mountains is mine. 
It availeth me naught without charity kind. 

Tho' my off'rings are many for poverty's sake, 
Tho' my body should burn at the martyr'3 

stake ; 
Tho' life's bitter lesson I learn full well, 

If charity 's lacking, 'twill a sad future tell. 

36 



PAKAl'HKASr. ON I. (OK. Mil. 



.V 



L(iiit^ does it .suffer, and ever is kind, 

And envy ne'er enters its calm, peaceful mind; 

V^aunteth not its (glories where all may deride. 
And is not puffed up with an unseemily pride; 
Beareth, believeth, and hopetli all things, 
And ever the praises of modesty sings. 
Whatever the prophecies, they shall fail ; 
The tongues shall cease to praise or assail — 
All of our knowledge shall vanish away. 
But charity ne'er fails us through life's rugged 
wa\'. 

When a child ni)^ thoughts were but simi)le and 

weak, 
But now as a man do I think and speak : 
For now we see darkly, as through a glass ; 
But when more perfect works shall come to 

pass, 
In a clearer light will Christ's love be shown, 
And then we shall know as we also are known. 
Now faith, hope and charity ever abide, 
Bui charit\' 's greater than all beside. 



MEMORIAL DAY. 

Within the peaceful city of the dead, 

Where flowers bloom, and willows wave o'er- 

head. 
There in one sacred, hallowed spot, apart 
From all the rest, lies many a faithful heart. 
Who started forth at duty's clarion call. 
To warfare ; and the cost — his life, his all ! 

To-day we have gathered, with flowers so gay. 
To cover their graves with the offerings of May ; 
To keep in remembrance the brave men of God, 
Who calmly are sleeping beneath the green 
sod, 

riiese stones all have names ; the general, his 

corps. 
Lieutenants and captains and many more, 
Who held high positions, and whose names 

coming down 
Through ages historic are held in renown. 
38 



MKMOKI.M. \)A\. 39 

But t/icse, each one marked witli a neat white 
stone, 

Are the graves of the soldiers who were " Un- 
known ;" 

Unknown? Uninissed? Ah! who shall say 

That e 'en on this late Memorial Day 

Some hearts are not mourning with bitter woe, 
For their loved ones who perished so long ago ? 
Tho' no name is there on any headstone, 
To the Ruler of battles they all are known. 

So with pity and reverence and prayer. 
Our floral offerings alike will we share 
With each brave soldier who lies buried there. 
Roses and lilies and sweet blue-bells, 
Pansies and violets and immortelles — 

Tenderl)- la)' them on each grassy mound, * 
Then turn as the bugle notes softly sound, 
And as the sun sinks in the golden west. 
We '11 leave the heroes to their peaceful rest. 



AN ACROSTIC. 

Coming with news of all nations, 
Hail to thee, thrice welcome friend ! 
Resounding the voice of salvation, 
In seeking Christ's cause to defend. 
Serene be thy way through the ages, 
Tho' querists oft puzzle the brain : 
(It surely takes one of the sages 
All the questions they ask to explain.) 
New stories with morals for children, 

Such good things for older ones, too ; 
There 's never a line but is true. 
And now may thy pathway grow brighter. 
New beauties be added each week. 
Doing good all the way to the weary, 
And giving the help that they seek. 
Reviving the light of the gospel so true, 
Dear Standard, may peace be ever with you. 



ON THE DEATH OE A SCHOOL-MATE. 

There 's a scene in the past comes back to me, 
As I read the sad news of the death of a friend ; 
And, withdrawing the curtains, a picture I see — 
The time when our school-days had drawn to 

an end, 
The stage with its flowers and pictures so fair, 
The music, sweet music, that filled the air — 

As each graduate bowed when her essay was 

done, 
And shyly acknowledged the praise it had won. 
At the last came the parting address ; and o 'er 

all, 
A feeling of sadness seemed to fall ; 
Eor the words were so true that Sallie spoke, 
" Of the sorrow that over each life must fall 
Obscuring its sunlight in mists like a pall." 

Prophetic words! And though they awoke 
Responsive chords in each heart, none dreamed 
That she, who the fairest among the fair seemed, 



42 ON THE DEATH OF A SCHOOL-MATE. 

Should SO soon be the first, hi the band of eight, 
To reach the unknown, through death's mystic 
gate. 

Our paths since that time have been widely 

apart. 
But mem 'ry remains ever green in the heart ; 
And 'tis sad that so soon in life's short day 
Tlie summons should come to call her away. 
Peacefully rest ! beloved one, rest ! 
In your long, last sleep, among the blest. 

After earth's trials and toils and pain. 

To all at the last does a sweet rest remain, 

And though tears now fall, like the evening- 

dew. 
They '11 reflect in the morning the rainbow's 

hue ; 
As broken hopes, or a down crushed flower. 
May brighten again in some sunnier hour. 



THE OLD SEXTON'S STORY. 

A tourist walking about one day 

Throuf^h the streets of a village that quietly lay 

In the shadows of mountains that ever looked 

down 
With a sense of protection on the sleepy old 

town, 
Came up to the church and its yard unaware; 
And passing along, the inscriptions reading, 
Walking at random, scarce!}^ heeding 
Whither he went, he presently came 
To a lowly grave, where beneath the name, 

Spelling it out from the ravage of time, 

Was writ the inscription: "A hope may be 

thine, 
For the Saviour e'er leaves the ninety and nine, 
For the wanderer now, as in olden time." 
The reading seemed strange ; for they often 

tell 
Of good deeds and virtues, and on them dwell. 
So the stranger was anxious the story to know 



44 'fUE OLD SEXTON S STORV. 

Of the life of this man, living long ago. 
And the sexton, obliging, agreed, he said. 
To tell what he knew of him who was dead. 



So they sat down by the moss grown church 

door, 
Where vines hung thick, and cast shadows o'er, 
And the little brook that was running along. 
Seemed to tune his sad story with cadence of 

song : 
" I 'm old and feeble, and as you see. 
There 's not much usefulness claimed by me ; 
Rut I 've done my work to the best of my will, 
And the Master allowing I 'II do it still. 
'Tis now threescore of years and more. 
Since first I entered this old church door. 

The evening vespers each day I ring. 

And the people respond to the summons, and 

bring 
Their offerings of prayer to lay at His feet. 
Who promises all a forgiveness most sweet 
I 've gayly pealed forth the marriage chime. 
And the funeral knell have tolled many a time; 
Telling the years off, age by age, 
Each giving a record from life's true page ; 



THE OLD sexton's STOKV. 45 

Of cliildhootrs joys and grief and pain, 
Youth's ambitions and failures, again and 
again. 

Manhood's struggles and avarice's grip. 
And on down the stream, till age full ripe. 
Claimed many as victims, and ere long 'twas 

death 
That stilled all the strugglings with his icy 

breath. 
And once, long ago, when the vespers were 

done, 
And all the villagers had come and gone, 
There came through the door the wreck of a 

man, 
Looking so weary and t-.ttered and wan. 
And with slow, w^ary step, a:i 1 many a falter, 
He came up at last, and knelt by the altar. ^ 

And, returning late, I found him still there, 
Kneeling beside the same altar where 
In childhood's days he had often been ; 
For tho' so changed, I had plainly seen 
That 'twas he who had gone off in early youth, 
Forsaking the paths of virtue and truth. 
Yielding to stories of the tempter so fair, 
An easy prey to their alluring snare ; 



46 THE OLD sexton's STORV. 

With life a worse failure day by clay, 
Till all its usefulness passed away. 

He had come back home, and to this placc, 
To seek a forgiveness, and forev^er chase 
The demon of wrong from out his way; 
But alas ! for him 't was too late a day 
He knelt there so still, and so long, that I 

said: 
' The time has long passed since the vespers 

were read.' 
But he moved not, nor stirred, for his spirit 

that day 
Had passed from its tenement-house away. 
And that 's all the story. We buried him 

there. 
And at his grave there was said a prayer, 

That there still might be hope for such as he, 

In the boundless land of eternity. 

And I still 'tend the grave, and keep weeds 

away, 
Tho' the stone is o 'ergrovvn with mosses 

gray." 
"The story 's a sad one," the stranger said, 
"This fragment of history, of him long since 

dead, 



THK oi.n sexton's story. 47 

And I thank you fur telling it; but time passes 

away, 
And now I must leave you. (jood da)-, sir, 

sjood dav." 



THE RAVEN AND, THE DOVIC 

There is a shadow of doubt overhanging many to-day, dark 
as the leaden-winged bird which haunted that most weird of 
writers, E. A. Poe, and which lie has immortalized in his 
poem. As he ])icturcd the raven sitting on the bust of I'allas, 
and with its ominous croakings casting gloom over his life, 
so does the darkness of sin and miserable doublings settle 
down over many lives to-day. But while the raven is 
croaking his "Nevermore," and exulting in the misery he 
brings, another winged messenger comes hovering near, a 
beautiful dove with snowy plumage, truly a harbinger of 
hope; in musical tones it tells of wonderful peace; and, 
withering under the gaze of purity, the l)]ack demon of doubt 
is dispelled, and hope reigns supreme. 

There is ever war raging 'twixt hope and 

doubt, 
There is Hght with hope, but darkness without, 
As the bust of Pallas the raven received, 
That goddess of Reason, in whom they believed, 
So now 't is the heathen, who idols adore. 
Who are still on the "dark night's Plutonian 

shore." 
For tho' fair be the lands, with rich flowers and 

rare, 
It all is as nothing it doubting is there, 



THK KAVKN AND THE DOVE. 49 

Tlic fair-pluinagcd do\'c, with its musical tone. 
Has long made our loxel)' countr}' its own ; 
And all who are fitted, its precei)t.-; make 

known, 
And most wonderful!)- in our land have the}- 

grown. 

The raven of darkness one rarel)- sees ; 
For, sailing away o 'er the salt sea breeze, 
He has winged his flight and made his home 
Where the truth and its promises rarel\- come. 
But here and there amidst all the dross, 
A light is breaking around where the cross 

Of Christ is planted, and near it the dove 
Hovers, shedeling their radiance of hoi)e from 

above. 
And one da\' the idols all trampled shall be, 
B)' the cross and its promises ; then shall we see 
The raven o'erpowered b}- the dove's purit}-. 
And instead of his shriekings of ' ' Never more, " 
I'xhoing dismal from the heathen shore, 
The dove's silver}- notes shall the echoes ring, 
Peace and hope exermore to all nations she '11 

brini!'. 



THP: CHRISTMAS STAR. 

How swiftly but surely the fleeting years go, 
I'^rom summer's green to winter's snow, 
And 't is now many hundreds of years ago, 
Since the beautiful star in the East did show 
The wise men o: Bethlehem where to go 
To the humble place where, in a manger low. 
Our Saviour, a babe, was lying. 

This light is still shining on us from afar, 
A wonderful bright and guiding star, 
Still leading us on to the Eastern bar 
Where the gates of forgiveness are standing 
ajar. 
And the light of God's love is shining. 

' T is the faith star is leading us on to-day. 
And if we but follow beneath its bright ray. 
It safely will bring us on, day after daj^ 
Helping to shun all the dangers that sta)% 
So thick 'round our path if we wander away, 
And our erring feet should go astray. 



THE CHRISTMAS STAR. 5 I 

(^Lit of the narrow but wonderful way, 
Its hardships softening and refinin,l,^ 

The Christmas bells ring out loud and clear, 
A sound most sweet to the listening ear; 
l^^ir to-day we are keeping a holiday dear, 
The holiday best of all through the year. 
Once the carollers sang their songs of good 

cheer, 
And the passers-by often stopped to hear 
The story in song that greeted the ear, 
Oft with echoing lips replying. 

To-day in all hearts is a carol sung, 
While our homes are with the red holly hung, 
And with Christmas green bedecked so fair. 
It seems as if summer were still breathing there. 
And the song of good will and peace to men, 
Is repeating its echoes again and again, 
Evermore singing the sweet old refrain. 
That rings on the waters as on the main, 
While the Christmas star is shining. 



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